AN: This story focuses on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks, using dreams and memories, within that episode(Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), and I've also created some of my own pre-cannon fair. Some of my timelines might be off a little, as well as my understanding of Edwardian culture, but i tried ;)
I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated T. Enjoy.
O'Brien's assessment was correct, Her Ladyship was much worse; and after hours of sitting idly watching her mistress deteriorate, she jumped at the chance to fetch help, leaving Robert as Cora's guardian. Robert carefully settled back on their bed and exhaled slowly. He watched her with sagacious anticipation, wondering if she would roll towards him, reflexively fitting her body around his as she had done so many nights before. Robert waited, but other than the laboured movement of her chest, Cora remained still. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
"When will you see Miss Levinson next?" His father asked before handing him a glass of whiskey.
Robert accepted his drink and backed up to the nearest chair. "In a day or two, I suppose." He wrestled with his eagerness.
"The season is coming to an end, son." George mused. "Have you come any closer to making a decision?"
"I haven't." Robert sighed before swallowing the first few drops of whiskey. "I'm not ready..." He hesitated before shrugging his shoulders. "It would be a mistake."
George nodded slowly.
"And, mama would be furious." Robert added for effect.
"If you'll please; leave your mother to me." George sat down across from his son and took a long drink, nearly draining his glass. "Explain to me why it feels like a mistake."
Robert slumped back into his chair, appearing more childlike than a man considering a wedding proposal.
George looked into his glass with a sigh, Robert's petulance annoyed him, and he struggled to stow his irritation.
In part he understood his son's hesitation. George envied the simplicity of Robert's life; a rising interest in the estate, the ability to pursue his interests as he desired, and female accompaniment at his disposal. Yet at 23-years old Robert had still maintained a life of uncommitted freedom despite his parents' urgings to find a wife.
When George, the 6th Earl of Grantham, was introduced to The American Heiress, Miss Levinson, he was taken aback. She was smart and witty, and attractive to say the least, but what struck him most was that she made no attempts to impress or supress her true self; her authenticity is what he liked most about her. George could see what many could not, which was that Robert and Cora were perfect for one another, and that was before he learned of her dowry.
"Do you care for her?" George asked finally, furrowing his brow.
Robert looked at his father, "of course I do," he stated emphatically. "She's smart, she makes me laugh…" he paused, "she's pretty." He tilted his head back on the chair and looked up. "I enjoy spending time with her" he swallowed, "I just don't know if I want to spend all my time with her."
"Ah." George straightened in his chair.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Well, it could be worse." His father surmised, attempting to make light. "I mean, girls practically hang off young men these days, flirting. Think of your mate Phillip, that one he goes around with." His father raised his eyebrows in mock horror.
Robert shifted his eyes to the ceiling and grinned. "I wonder if perhaps I'm better suited to a lifelong bachelorhood."
George stood and spoke with a sternness he reserved for times of authority. "Robert! I cannot stress this upon you enough, that is not an option." He moved to pour himself another dram of whiskey, "so, for the last time, put it out of your head."
There was another long moment of silence as George moved back to his chair. He sat down heavily.
Feeling provoked, Robert's tone was now somewhat aggressive. "She's American," he snapped. "We have so little in common, over time I'm sure we would be dreadfully bored with one another." He swallowed another gulp of whiskey.
His father opened his mouth to respond, but Robert continued.
"And what about her motives?" Robert shifted in his seat. "Why else would she be interested in marriage, other than to become a countess one day?"
George gave a half-hearted smile, "you're grasping…"
Robert knew it, but blazed on with his final point and stated matter-of-factly, "I don't love her."
George opened his mouth to state his rebuttal.
"Don't love whom?" Violet's voice broadcast into the room from the door. Robert and George both jumped out of their chairs.
His mother took a step in to the room. "Who don't you love?" She unconsciously put her hand over her heart.
"Violet!" George smiled tightly, "Robert and I were just discussing his marriage options," his tone of voice requested that his wife disengage.
"Not that American!?" Violet instantly connected the dots, her voice rising an octave. "You can't!" Moving her hand from her chest she lifted it to the space in front of her husband, deflecting any action he might take, her full attention focused on Robert.
Robert and his father both responded, their voices overlapping. "Violet!" "Mama!"
"I forbid it!" She stammered, "I will not have an American daughter-in-law." Her face reddened, "I will not hand over my title to an American."
George's voice resonated, filling the library. "ENOUGH!"
Robert shrank; however, Violet was unintimidated.
"Miss Levinson is a lovely girl," he spoke sternly. "And while he may not love her…yet, she has captured Robert's attention." His voice softened. "The reality is, and I've put a great deal of thought into this," he sighed. "Her wealth, provided the details are accurate, could help support Downton for many, many years to come." It was George's turn to use his hand, which he held up to silence Violet who already had a retort on the tip of her tongue. "The way I see it, we need her." He looked at Robert again, "we need her to agree to marry you."
Violet scoffed. "George, please! Think of his future."
"I am," His father murmured.
Robert dropped himself back down into his chair, dispirited by the notion of needing anyone.
The line between need and want had been blurred long ago, needing Cora and wanting her had become synonymous. That is until the war, when things slowly started to unravel, and the balance in his life had been tipped. Lately, everything in his mind was scattered, and he struggled to think clearly on any matter. The way he saw it, the war had not only trampled his ego, but it obscured his relationship with his wife. Robert felt stagnated while he watched her flourish, and when the war ended, he was left with a sense of estranged deprivation. Now he was stuck in a cloud of resentment and he struggled to see the light.
He had been on a downward spiral of self-pity when Jane arrived at Downton. Not long after, he found himself drawn in by her kindness, and over time he began to rely on her thoughtful and responsive nature to lift his spirits. Effectively, he had been seduced by her attention, and when she offered herself, he shamelessly planned to use her to pull him from his despondency. "Thank God for Bates and his wake-up call," Robert thought to himself, although he couldn't help but wonder if he had walked away in time.
His face flushed with thoughts of impropriety.
Feeling uneasy, he looked around the room. Their intimate space that had once bloomed with peace and devotion had now been taken over by betrayal and chaos. Robert swallowed thickly as his breathing shallowed. He shifted and the movement of the mattress nudged at Cora's arm, and her hand fell open between them. His eyes trailed down the deep blue lines on her forearm to the grey hue of her hand, and landed on the glow of her wedding band. With each beat of his guilty heart the gold blazed brighter. Cora had been the target of his bitterness for far too long.
Dazed he watch a bead of sweat roll across her blazon cheek and over her jaw, then slide down her neck and slip into a pool of sweat at the base of her throat. His gaze widened and he noticed the redness of her skin, the perspiration that laced her forehead and glazed her eyelashes. He paused for a moment to watch her before shifting his attention back to the space between them, back to her hand, to her thin fingers, her gold band; slowly he reached forward, and as his fingertips slid over her palm, she responded unconsciously, reflexively fitting her fingers around his, as she had done so many times before.
"There is no pleasing you." Robert was taken aback by the irritation in Cora's voice. "Why must you find fault in everything?"
He could only hear his future mother-in-law, as the fabric of her dress rustled in response. "I'm just not sure you're making the right decision." Martha's voice was arrogantly nonchalant.
"Mother!" Cora's face turned from pale to bright pink in a blink. "I am here because of you."
Robert straightened. He had been in the library for nearly twenty minutes, hiding from the scrutiny of his family before Cora and her mother walked in, hissing at one other.
"Did you not think this through? Is this not what you wanted? Nobility? A lift in your social esteem?" Cora's questions overlapped. Her tone was laced with impertinence.
A half smile lifted his cheek. Cora had a sharp tongue when she wanted to. He was impressed and intrigued, there was more to her story than he had ever considered.
"What I want!" Martha snapped, "is for your inheritance to remain intact."
He glanced around nervously, ensuring his concealment.
Cora threw her arms up in exasperation. "I can't go through this all again. I won't!" She pointed at the floor in front of her, "this is what I want, Mother." She sighed heavily, "I want to be with Robert." Her words were endearing, which he found oddly reassuring.
"This is what you want?" Martha countered sarcastically.
Robert furrowed his brow in response to her aggression.
"Yes." Cora answered simply.
He watched Cora, noticing that she blinked more frequently when she was uncomfortable.
"Do you know where he was before dinner?" Martha demanded.
Cora's expression puzzled. Although half a foot taller than her mother, she appeared to shrink at the question.
"While you were in the drawing room, being…" Martha paused to choose her words. "Berated by that woman."
"Mother, please." Cora softly interjected.
"He was on the stairs...with a maid."
Robert swallowed audibly. He watched Cora's eyes widened slightly before she looked away. Robert contemplated speaking up. To explain.
"I know what you're thinking…" Cora started, looking back to her mother.
"I think that you're making a mistake!" Martha's voice raised an octave.
"Oh, Mother!" Cora rolled her eyes.
"My dear, have you considered his motives?" Martha shifted and Robert could now see her, and her emphatic expression. "You are positioned to become a very wealthy woman and this estate needs money."
Robert's heart started to race as he watched Martha reach out and clasp Cora's hand, "and I question his fidelity."
"What?" Cora looked genuinely hurt.
He watched the muscles in Cora's arm twitch as she attempted to pull away from her mother's grasp.
Martha squeezed Cora's hand pulling her closer. "I've known men like him, Cora."
"I.." Cora pulled her hand free.
"Handsome. Charismatic." Martha's hand rolled over itself in the air, "persuasive."
Robert watched Cora's lips move, but could not make out a single word of what she said.
Martha gasped. "What did you just say?"
Cora swallowed before speaking firmly. "Robert is nothing like daddy."
It was Martha's turn to flush. It was clear to Robert that Cora had disarmed her mother.
Martha stammered, "you…you don't know…"
"I know more than you think Mother," Cora paused, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. "I am sorry for your unhappiness," her voice was strong, a vain attempt at masking the uncertainty in her eyes, "but I resent the implication that Robert would…"
The sound of it was stunning. Their eyes widened in unison. He watched Cora, his mouth agape. The skin on her cheek blanched. Martha's hand suspended in the space between them.
Cora lifted her hand to her mouth, touching the corner of her lip. She casually looked down at the smear of blood on the tip of her finger.
Instinctively Robert wanted to go to Cora, to intervene, but he knew that doing so would give away his intrusion. He watched Martha's shoulders rising and falling in time with her raged breathing.
"Mother, I love him." Cora's voice was soft, but firm. "And I will marry him on Sunday."
"Cora…I…" Martha sounded weak. "I'm sorry."
"Please be happy for me." Cora whispered, ignoring her mother's apology.
Robert swallowed past the discomfort that was building in his throat. It was rare that Cora revealed her emotions, a trait that set her apart from her American counterparts. Tears slowly flooded her eyes, and she blinked carefully to restrain them. He watched as she took a step back, away from her mother.
She gently placed her hand over her injured cheek and stated softly, "I'll say goodnight."
Martha held up her hands to stop Cora, offering a truce, an apology? But when Cora didn't stop, Martha simply whispered, "good night" before letting out a defeated sigh.
From somewhere in the distance Robert heard a muffled cough, and he pushed himself deeper into the dark corner.
Beside him Cora coughed.
Her body ricocheted with the force expelled from her chest. Her face contorted with pain as she gasped for air. She clutched at the blankets, unconsciously gaining leverage she squeezed her fists tighter with each cough. Robert quickly moved off the bed and around to her side. "Cora!" He called to her, hoping to reassure her, but she couldn't respond.
Eventually her coughing fit subsided and she was left gasping for air. Robert watched as she slowly settled, and her breathing raggedly evened out. He spotted it when she turned her head, a small spot of bright red blood on her lip.